


Masquerade

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Accidental Sex, Anal Sex, Angst, Anonymous Sex, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Clubbing, Confessions, Friends With Benefits, Grinding, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Misery, Mistaken Identity, Mistakes, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Post-Break Up, Rebound Sex, Smut, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 20:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12395826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: In costume nobody knows who you are, and six months after Nicky and Kian have broken up a bit of anonymous rebound sex doesn't feel like such a bad idea.





	Masquerade

“It's all sweaty.”

“You look fine,” Mark chuckled. Kian flipped his mask up, trying to push flattened hair off his forehead. His nose was squashed. Mark smirked.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He turned, helping to adjust the coat. “Looks good.” Kian shrugged. It had been a last minute purchase. He'd meant to buy something sooner, then suddenly Halloween had been upon them and there hadn't been time for a proper trip to the costume store, so hockey mask it was, grabbed from the sport supply place on the way home that afternoon, along with an old coat and jeans from the back of his closet. The jeans were maybe a bit tight, but he didn't mind that. Mark didn't either, judging from the whistle he'd gotten when he'd bent over to pick up his wallet on the way out.

Then a bit of fake blood, leftover from Mark's vampire getup, and here he was, strolling through Dublin on Halloween night, off the sofa and away from the television which had become his failsafe over the last six months.

He knew it was all a bit sad, but breakups were like that. Especially when you saw the person every day. When you relied on each other for your job. He hadn't expected it to hurt quite this much. To feel that ache of heartbreak every time Nicky looked his way.

Still, the hiatus couldn't have come at a better time. Being away from Nicky hurt. Being with him hurt more.

“Thanks,” he said. Mark looked at him questioningly. “For taking me out. Sorry I've been...” Shitty. Angry. Sullen. “Just... sorry.”

“Don't be.” A hand linked with his for a moment, squeezed, then let go. Kian smiled bashfully. Mark smiled back, though it was ruined in part by the dark makeup hollowing his eyes and cheekbones and the plastic teeth sticking awkwardly over his bottom lip. “Anyway, that's not what tonight's about. Tonight's about music, and having fun, and getting drunk, and maybe picking up.”

“For me or you?”

“Both of us. But I was going to have a go at that one there.” Mark gestured to where the queue was starting to wrap around the block, punctuated by a man in a pair of tiny overalls that was apparently trying to be a Mario costume. “Wouldn't mind eating his mushroom.”

“Mark!” Kian shoved him, heard a laugh. “Jesus.”

“Let him drive down my rainbow road.”

“No...” Kian dropped the mask over his red face. Mark was giggling, as well as getting an appreciative look from the Mario. He waved back. “Well, you're sorted, it looks like.”

“Apparently.” They skipped past the queue, Mark waved at the bouncer, and then they were in, to the groans of the rest of the people waiting in the cold.

“Come here often?”

“Maybe.” Mark adjusted the collar of his cloak he had draped over his shoulders, half covering the black trousers and blood-spattered white shirt. “Bouncer's always nice to me.” He let go of the collar, and smiled through plastic teeth over Kian's shoulder. A glance backwards proved Mario was just coming through the door and making a beeline their way. “You go get a couple of drinks, yeah? I'll be back in five.” With that, he ducked away, leaving Kian stood wondering why Mark had brought him out at all if he was going to be abandoned within the first five minutes.

He supposed it was fair enough. He wasn't Mark's responsibility. Wasn't anyone's. Not any more.

Kian headed to the bar.

  
  


*

  
  


“I feel stupid.”

“Well, you look great,” Shane laughed. Nicky glared, then realised there wasn't much point when Shane couldn't see him anyway. It had been last minute, when Shane had barged into his house, thrown a sheet at him and told him they were going out and to get dressed. Nicky had asked if it was toga party, then he'd seen the holes clumsily snipped in the middle, realised belatedly Shane was dressed in a white shirt with a Superman tee peering out from the unbuttoned front, and a pair of black plastic spectacle frames on.

“Can't we go home?”

“No.” Nicky pouted and tried to adjust the sheet. The holes were barely enough to see through and he kept tripping over the bottom, had had to put his hands out a few times to stop himself walking into bins and signposts he could barely make out until they were right on top of him.

“Maybe this is why poltergeists make so much noise,” he commented. “It's not that they're trying to scare people, it's just they can't fucking see and keep tripping over things.” He felt a hand stop him and realised he'd been about to walk into traffic. “This isn't fun.”

“It's brilliant. Shut up.” Shane guided him back to the footpath. “You make a brilliant ghost. Anyway, you practically have been one the last six months, so use it as practice. You can moan and be invisible and act like you've died.”

“Yeah, well...” A sobbing swell of loneliness sank into the pit of his stomach. He'd been doing better at keeping it at bay lately, better than the first few months anyway, but it was still there. In little things. In smells and television adverts and songs on the radio. In seeing Kian stood at the other end of the stage and feeling, for the first time, completely shut out. Like he wasn't allowed to feel like this any more.

“Sorry. That was harsh.” Nicky shrugged in response. “We'll have fun tonight, okay? We can have a few drinks, and maybe you'll meet a nice lad.” Nicky grimaced under the sheet. No. Not yet. “Have you...” Shane hesitated. “Have you thought about calling him, maybe? It's been a while, and...”

“There's no point,” Nicky said softly. “It wasn't working. Not any more.” He felt his voice break. For the times when it had worked so well. When his feelings had been pure and perfect and maybe a little confused. When it hadn't been shouting and storming out, and when he'd felt _wanted_ , instead of like Kian was looking right through him.

“He misses you too.”

“Yeah, well, we missed each other when we were together.” The queue was built up around the block. “Looks like it's too full. Guess we'll have to go home.” He began to turn around. Shane grabbed his arm. Guided him to the front door and then through, with a wave at the bouncer. The people waiting didn't sound happy about it. “Come here often?” Nicky teased.

“Mark and I used to come all the time when we were looking to pick up.”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“We did. You two- I mean, you never wanted to come.” An apologetic grimace pinched Shane's face. Nicky supposed that was right. They'd gone out, sure, but it had been easier at home. Snuggled up on the sofa and watching TV with a couple of beers, not having to worry about getting dressed up or finding a cab, not when their pyjamas were good enough.

It was crowded inside. Bloody packed, actually, though not being able to see didn't help it. Nicky let Shane guide him to the bar, sure he was going to take this thing off as soon as he was left alone long enough. They ordered a couple of cocktails and Nicky went to lift his sheet up to sip it, then rolled his eyes when Shane shook his head, asked the barman for a pair of scissors, then snipped a hole in over his mouth for the straw.

“Thanks.” It was sarcastic. Shane smirked. “I'm going to the toilet.” He put down the cocktail. “Mind that.” It was harder navigating on his own, but he managed it, pushing through the crowd of people in costume. A werewolf stepped out of his way, and he turned to avoid walking directly into a Spider-Man and some sort of evil clown making out on the dancefloor. Then he was in, hiking his sheet up to get his jeans down, trying to navigate himself over a urinal.

He wanted to go home. Wanted his pyjamas and something crap on TV. Wanted a home-cooked meal and an arm around his waist while he went to sleep on a strong shoulder. Wanted Ki-

He shook his head. No. There was no point dwelling on it. Maybe Shane was right. He needed to get himself together. Have some fun. Figure out what else was out there, because he'd never had the chance to, not when it had always been about the two of them. When it had been all he'd ever needed.

The door swung open. A guy in a hockey mask and tight jeans came in, gave Nicky a curious glance, then turned to the urinal at the other end of the row.

He was cute. Good arse, especially in those jeans. Broad in the shoulders and narrow-waisted, very much Nicky's type.

Another glance darted his way, and Nicky looked quickly away, not wanting to look like he'd been staring.

Still...

He finished up and left the bathroom, throwing a tentative smile over his shoulder as he went, not sure if he was getting the flirting thing right or if he'd completely twatted it up.

He was halfway back to the bar before he realised the lad couldn't have seen his smile anyway.

He groaned, and went to find his drink.

  
  


*

  
  


Mark didn't quite know where Kian was. Admittedly, he was rapidly losing the correct coordinates of his own face, but he wasn't that far gone yet. The boy in front of him was cute, and once Mark had taken out the plastic teeth he'd been struggling with half the night, he'd become quite good conversation too.

Not that they were talking, particularly.

It was mad in here. He generally wasn't a big fan of the diva lifestyle, but there were certain perks to celebrity. He knew they'd started to turn people away not long after he'd arrived. Halloween night, in one of Dublin's hottest gay clubs, of course there was going to be demand.

He'd needed to get out of the house, himself. Had a feeling Kian needed to as well. They'd talked on the phone since they'd been on holidays, usually Kian calling him first instead of the other way around. There was something desperate about it. Something that made Mark feel sad for him, and want to help, but also run out of patience around the third midnight call, Kian's breath cracking with tears and Mark wondering if it was awful to regret saying Kian could talk to him any time, day or night.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“I'd... better not,” Mark admitted. He'd lost track of Kian about twenty minutes before and was thinking it was probably time to start tracking him down. They'd sat together, for a while, he and Kian and Mario (who probably had a real name but Mark hadn't caught it), as well as some other lads he sort of knew from around and were always good craic.

Then Kian had gone to the bathroom, Mark had gotten up to dance, and somewhere along the line the music had gotten louder and the crowd had thickened and now there was a hand on his arse.

“Up to you.” Another kiss caught him, slow and deep, and he was left dazed when it parted. “Going to get a drink. Catch you round?”

“Catch you... yeah.” Mario disappeared. Probably off to more concrete prospects. Mark didn't blame the guy. He was still standing in slight confused arousal when a hand tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mark?”

“Shane? Hey!” He was caught in a hug. Shane looked cute, had put the bare minimum into a Clark Kent get-up. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I'd bring Nicky out. He was being miserable.” Mark felt his stomach drop. “What?”

“Er... Nicky's here?” Mark winced.

“What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Just... might have had the same idea with Kian.”

“Oh.” Shane covered his mouth. “Shit.” They both laughed. “Well, at least it's crowded. Maybe they won't run into each other.” He sighed, looking up at Mark. “Is Kian being really tragic? Because Nicky keeps trying to escape.”

“Story of my life,” Mark groaned. Shane smirked. “Honestly, I just want them to get back together, so I don't have to hear about it. They were perfect for each other.” He really didn't get it. Obviously there had been reasons, but all he knew was paradise had suddenly been infected with snarky remarks, then shouting, then storming off. They'd spent an afternoon in their room after a radio interview had turned icy, then Kian had knocked on Mark's hotel room door in tears and said Nicky was getting a cab back to the airport and they'd have to do the next few days without him.

It was selfish, but Mark's first thought had been whether he was coming back. Whether they had another Bryan on their hands. Irreparably broken by something none of them could fix.

Nicky had come back two days later, smiled grimly, and gotten back to work. He hadn't spoken to Kian. Kian hadn't spoken back.

“I think...” Shane hesitated. “I think Kian proposed.” Mark blinked. This was news to him.

“Nicky said no?” Shane shrugged. “Fuck. Brutal. Why?”

“Dunno. He didn't even tell me, really, just some of the things he said made it sound like...” He huffed out a frustrated breath. “He's really cut up. But you know what Nicky's like. I keep saying maybe he should talk to Kian, but he just says there's no point. That it wasn't working, or something like that.”

“Should tell Kian that. I think he's still trying to figure out what he did.” Mark rolled his eyes. “I wish they'd just _talk_ to each other, you know?” Shane was nodding.

“I know. It just... it pisses me off. Nicky deserves to be happy and... I mean they both do.” He must have caught Mark's smirk, because he turned away, going slightly red. “Fuck off, you know it's not like that. Not any more.”

“So you've dropped the torch.”

“The torch is gone. The torch is a non-issue.”

“Come on, Shane. You think I didn't notice you calling his name? I'm not fucking stupid.” Shane's blush deepened. “I get it. We were just fucking. It wasn't a thing. But don't lie and say you didn't pretend it was him.” He crossed his arms. “There was a reason I stopped it.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” It came out a mumble. Mark pulled him into a hug. “Sorry, mate.”

“S'okay,” Mark murmured. And it had been. An easy place to get a lay, feelings very much not on the table. Still, it had been slightly insulting hearing Nicky's name whispered, then bitten off. “Well, maybe now's your chance?”

“I'm not doing the rebound thing.” They separated. “He wants Kian. I can't be...” Second best. Mark got it. “I suppose I'd better find him, anyway. Knowing my luck he's probably snuck out the back and gotten into a cab already.” Mark snorted. “Where's Kian?”

“Went to the toilet twenty minutes ago. So probably halfway home by now.” He rolled his eyes. Shane laughed. “I'll work on finding him. Text you if I see Nicky?” Shane nodded. “He have a costume?”

“Ghost.” Mark laughed. “Kian?”

“Friday the 13th.” They both smirked. “Good seeing you.”

“Yeah, catch up soon,” Shane chuckled, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the masses. Mark craned his neck, realised there was no point, and began to make for the stairs, wondering if he could see better from the balcony.

  
  


*

  
  


It was easier to move outside. Kian wasn't sure, exactly, where Mark was, but he'd stopped bothering to look. It was late, he'd been here over an hour, and so far the longest interaction he'd had was sort of checking out a ghost at the urinals.

It wasn't something he did often, and yes he was aware that was a bit creepy and pushing into odd fetish territory, but it hadn't been that so much. The sheet had been hiked up, and even through the sag of undone jeans, a nice arse was a nice arse. A nice cock, as well, was a nice cock, and maybe he'd been a bit like Kian's type. Long, skinny legs in tight jeans, a narrow, firm arse. Maybe it was a bit too much like thinking of Nicky, but hell, he wasn't going to go checking out the opposite of his type just because it was a little too much like his ex.

Maybe this was a good thing. He hadn't looked at anyone since Nicky. Hadn't been able to. This was a turning point, probably, being able to look at someone else and feel something other than...

He felt braver, suddenly. Nicky hadn't wanted him, but this wasn't about that. It wasn't about love and cuddling and stumbling into the sunset together. They'd been exclusive the whole time, and Kian for his part had been faithful. He'd never been with someone else. Didn't know how to be. But it was Halloween and nobody knew him, and for the night maybe that was okay. To be someone else. To feel something other than broken and lonely all the time.

Prince Charming wandered past. Kian tried to smile at him. Then realised it was pointless when he was wearing this stupid hockey mask.

He thought about lifting it up. Decided to leave it on. Anonymity was probably a good thing. He was new to this, didn't want to go cocking it up or being on the wrong end of a tell-all. He didn't know how Mark and Shane did it, shagging happily around without worrying about the fallout, but he wasn't ready for that yet. Wasn't sure what he _was_ ready for.

What he needed to do was get past Nicky. Nicky, who wasn't coming back, no matter how much Kian wanted it.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye, and there was the ghost, a straw pushed precariously through a clever slit in the front of the sheet.

He took a sip of his own drink, wondering how to do this.

  
  


*

  
  


The boy in the hockey mask was checking him out. Nicky wasn't sure how he knew when he wasn't able to see his face, and at first he hadn't even noticed him. He'd ripped the holes a little bigger, which helped, but there was no peripheral vision in this thing and he'd had to tuck the sides into his belt to stop other people stepping on the fabric trailing behind him.

He'd thought about taking it off. Decided not to. It was easier, in a way, being able to watch everyone anonymously. He hadn't been ready to go out, was really not ready to meet people, but this felt like a compromise. Like being a ghost for real, getting to remember what the world was like without having to be a part of it.

He'd never been like this. Had always been the loud one, the confident one who could strike up a conversation with a potplant. Lately he didn't know who he was, as though someone had taken everything he was and tipped it upside down the moment Kian had sunk to one knee.

'Yes', had been on the tip of his tongue. Of course yes. But things had been difficult. Not just the arguing, but a sense of detachment he'd tried to ignore as it had crept up over the preceding year. Going through the motions, looking through each other. Even the sex had felt perfunctory, like something they knew how to do and were just getting on with. And maybe, though Nicky hated to think it, the proposal was less about love and more about trying to salvage something neither of them knew how to save. To force a solution to a problem neither of them would say out loud.

It hadn't been _fair_ of Kian to ask. Not then, when things had begun to fall apart. Like they were ignoring everything else, ticking off the boxes and pretending they hadn't been spitting anger at each other a day before over something so ridiculous that Nicky couldn't remember what it had been, except it was probably one of the same ten grievances that came around every time one of them got inexplicably fed up.

He wanted Kian to have asked five years before. Wanted him never to have asked, because then Nicky wouldn't have had to admit that he was frightened that love wasn't enough. Not really.

Jason moved closer. Nicky wondered how a ghost was supposed to look suggestive, then gave up. It was too loud in here. He raised a hand in a wave, saw one in return.

“Hey.” Muffled, through the mask, and Nicky could barely make it out over the music. “Dance?”

Nicky nodded, and followed.

  
  


*

  
  


Shane peered over the edge of the balcony. No sign of Nicky. He'd tried the toilets, and outside, but to no luck. Had sent a message, but he doubted Nicky could hear it, not in the noise of the club.

No sign of Kian either. It was a small world, apparently, smaller than Shane had anticipated.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he laughed. Mark waved. “Was just thinking it's a small world.”

“If it was smaller, maybe I could find those two eejits,” Mark sighed. “No luck?”

“None. Got a drink, though.” He lifted the glass to his mouth in emphasis, sneaking a look at Mark over the rim. He looked good tonight, Shane had to admit. Slicked-back hair and dark make-up making him look slightly dangerous.

“Sorry about before.”

“What? Oh...” He realised, when he saw the sympathetic smile. “No, that's fine.” It just wasn't something he needed to think about. When it came to Nicky, every time was a bad time. Had been at the beginning when he'd been pining, thinking about saying something, then caught them at it in a hallway. It was an old heartbreak, not one he thought about often, but at the time it had been devastating.

Then getting over it, watching them together, and thinking maybe it wasn't so bad to see them so happy, because when they were together it made everything better, like Kian and Nicky's happiness radiated out to the rest of them.

Then when they'd broken up, that guilty thought. 'Maybe when he's over it...'

It was a thought he'd dropped the moment it had crept into his head. No. There was no 'over it', and even if there was, it wasn't his place. He wasn't Kian. Could never be Kian. He was a different person, ten years on and old crushes left behind.

“Um.” Shane looked up, realised he'd drifted. “Nicky's a ghost, you said?”

“Yeah. Why?” Mark pointed, and Shane blinked when he saw them. A white shape on the dancefloor, moving close with a lad in a hockey mask. “...didn't you say Kian was dressed as Jason?”

“Do you think...”

“I don't know.” He had the sudden hysterical urge to laugh. “Fuck.” Covered his mouth while Mark leaned forward beside him. “Maybe it's not Kian.”

“It's definitely Kian. Could be another lad in a sheet?”

“Nope. That's him.” Shane laughed when Nicky tripped slightly on the hanging fabric. He looked ridiculous, the front tucked into his belt to stop it from getting tangled, making him look pinched in the middle. “Leave them to it?”

“There's going to be hell to pay when they figure it out.”

“Not my job.” Shane took another sip of his drink. “At least they're face-to-face for once, instead of ignoring each other.” He leaned on the railing beside Mark. “Suppose... I mean, I suppose it's nice, in a way. Even when they don't know they're doing it, they're made for each other.” A hand settled on his shoulder. “Like fate, or something.”

“Yeah.” Mark kissed his cheek, much to Shane's surprise. “I know it's been a while, but if you need to like... talk, or something, you know you can always come round. No strings.”

Shane nodded. Didn't reply.

“Or whatever.”

“Thanks,” Shane murmured. The hand squeezed his shoulder, then left it. Kian and Nicky were dancing closer now, Nicky's hands on his waist, stuck out of the sheet, and Kian's arms around Nicky's shoulders. “What do we do?”

“Get the popcorn?” Mark suggested. Shane snorted. “Well, at least we know where they are.”

“At least we do,” Shane agreed.

  
  


*

  
  


Kian hadn't been sure when he'd gone over and asked for a dance, but it seemed to be going well so far. He didn't know what the ghost looked like, exactly, but he danced well. The ghost felt good against him, wiry and solid, muscle threaded into a sinuous frame that moved to the music beautifully. They hit a rhythm easily. He smelled good too. Some cologne Kian didn't know, but underneath it all a indefinable sense of something else. Something that felt familiar and right.

They hadn't spoken. There was no point. Too loud and their mouths caught behind their costumes. It was better that way. Kian could pretend it was a ghost for real, wake up the next morning like it hadn't happened. Something fleeting and as simple as the hands on his waist.

They moved closer. Collided, slightly, and he felt a skip of excitement when he felt hot breath through the sheet, the nuzzle against his ear. His hand found a firm arse through fabric and jeans, stayed there when it appeared there was no argument, then squeezed when he heard a soft moan.

It felt fluid. Easy. As the music sped up and he laughed at a teasing shimmy that felt like it had a smirk in it.

He'd wondered, during all the misery and soul-searching, whether he'd ever be able to do this with someone who wasn't Nicky. It was selfish, maybe, but he'd felt almost more frightened over that thought than being without his partner. The idea that once Nicky had gone he wouldn't know what to do with someone else, that he'd be disappointing, stuck in specific routines, his moves apparently not that impressive when tried on someone else.

This was a relief. Not much more than a dance, obviously, but he could do this. He wanted to do this. Could feel the interest of the other man against him and wondered, in a breath, just how much more he could do.

But this was just a dance. He couldn't be so forward as to...

A hand settled on his arse, pulling him in.

  
  


*

  
  


Dancing with the sheet wasn't ideal.

It helped though. Pressed together, the feel of another man against him, but still keeping that distance. Jason felt good. Solid and fluid, obvious muscle, but a grace about him. He knew how to dance. Nicky wondered, guiltily, what else he knew how to do.

It was a thought that was terrifying and comforting in equal measure. The idea of doing something like this with anyone who wasn't Kian had felt abruptly strange, once he'd stopped crying and managed to look at the whole situation with anything approaching clarity. That had been part of it, maybe, why he hadn't tried this in the six months they'd been apart. Not just his inability to let go, but fear as well, that he could only do this with Kian. That he'd be disappointing, or not fit with someone else the way he had with Kian.

He hadn't wanted to fit with someone else. Didn't know that he wanted to now. But this felt okay, feeling the weight of someone else, interest in too-tight jeans. He'd kept away from it before now, with excuses of not wanting to get used because of who he was, but right now it didn't matter who he was. What mattered was how he felt, and despite everything he felt good. Better than he'd expected when he'd been dragged off the sofa by Shane.

He wasn't sure where Shane was. Thought he should text him, maybe, but didn't want to stop. Wanted, increasingly, to go further. To find out if this was something he could do. The first step to healing, perhaps, or even just to getting his rocks off after six months of his own hand.

He moved his hand on that perfect arse, pulled in just enough to force friction between them. There was a soft groan in his ear, muffled by the hockey mask, a dip in the rhythm of the dance that forced them harder together. Slow rutting that felt like foreplay.

They ground. Both in closer suddenly, the music an afterthought. It was teasing. Hard pressure that he closed his eyes against, rising tremor of an erection that was less interest and more intent. His spare hand slid under the coat, under the t-shirt, and there was hot, soft skin under his palm, his fingers finding the curve of rib and muscle. There was another moan, breathless, and he realised he was echoing it, anticipation advancing on him while he closed his eyes and tried to smell Jason through the sheet separating them, though all he could find was his own sweat and the cologne Shane had dug out of the glove compartment while they'd been stopped at a red light and Nicky had complained that he hadn't had time to shower.

“Do you want to...” Muffled behind the mask, but rough all the same. Nicky felt it shiver into his cock, felt the hand on his arse slide down, then up again, feeling him. He swallowed. Remembered Kian doing that same thing, when he was in the mood, and pushed the thought away. This wasn't about Kian.

“Where?” Nicky croaked back. He realised his sheet had gotten rucked up, and moaned when a grip cupped fleetingly to him before taking his hand, tugging.

They began to move towards the toilets.

  
  


*

  
  


“What did I miss?”

“Nothing much.” Mark took the drink gratefully. He felt a little awkward around Shane tonight, especially after what he'd said before. He'd meant it, of course, but now he felt like it had been the wrong time, come off as using Shane's feelings as an excuse for a shag.

He hadn't meant it like that, of course. Still, they hadn't really spoken since, and Shane had announced he was going to the bar a minute later. Now he was back and Mark didn't know quite what to say to him.

Watching Kian and Nicky was better. Common interest, though maybe not necessarily shared goals. Shane could say he was over it all he wanted, but Mark knew something like that didn't just go away. Not really. It hadn't when he'd been sixteen himself, staring from the wings at Danny Zuko and wishing he could be that brave, that talented, feeling a confused thrill whenever hazel eyes had smiled at him.

He'd had longer to move past it, he supposed. A crush had resolved into friendship, had resolved into fucking as well, though he'd never regret that. He and Shane, getting some sort of struggling catharsis out of something that wasn't quite what either of them really wanted.

“They're really going at it.”

“Well I don't know about Nicky, but I'd say Kian hasn't got off in the last six months.”

“True,” Shane chuckled. His drink tilted out. Mark clinked back. “Still, must be nice. To be in love like that. Like, to the point where you don't want anyone else.”

“Wouldn't know.”

“Never?” Mark shrugged. “You don't want to settle down?”

“I do. I just...” He took a sip of his gin and tonic. “Haven't found anyone.”

“Have you been looking?”

“I don't know. Yes? No. Or, I would if I had five minutes free. It's not...” He sighed. “I'm not good at letting people into my life, Shane. You know that. It's a lot like trusting someone, and generally it take so long to get to that point they've already fucked off because I'm paranoid and keep them at arm's length. Fucking's easier.” And less fulfilling, but whatever. “Relationships stress me out.” He realised he'd gotten defensive, and looked away. “Anyway, like you can talk.”

“I date.”

“When?”

“...a while back.”

“You saw the same guy more than once. I don't think that counts.” He saw a guilty grimace out of the corner of his eye, and turned back. “We're pathetic, aren't we?”

“Speak for yourself,” Shane retorted. Mark laughed. They leaned on the railing together to watch Nicky's hand grope at Kian's arse. “Makes it harder when you have to watch them being perfect all the time,” Shane murmured. “When you know it doesn't matter how many dates you go on, you'll never be as happy as them. Never find someone that just...” He sighed. “They're split up and I'm still jealous of them, you know? Because at least they had it.”

“Shay...” He felt a hand cover his, just for a second, and squeezed back.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For pretending I didn't know how you felt.” Mark felt his heart still. “It wasn't fair. You were there, and I took advantage because I was miserable.” Stormy eyes fixed on him like a scalpel. Mark swallowed.

“Oh. No. That's fine.” The words blurted out. “Sure.”

“I just... I don't want you being like me. Waiting for something. Because it's not...” Shane's eyes darted back to the two on the dancefloor. “It wasn't fair, and you shouldn't wait around for me. Please don't.”

“I...” Mark blinked away tears he hadn't expected to spring to his eyes. “I wasn't.”

“Okay, so.” Shane turned away again. Mark resisted the urge to slap him over the balcony, not sure why he was pissed off, but really needing to direct it somewhere that wasn't himself. “They're moving.”

“What?”

“Them.” Shane pointed. Mark saw a sheet and a mask weave through the crowd below, headed for the toilets.

“Oh.” Mark drained the rest of his drink. Their friends disappeared behind a swinging door. “I might go home, then, if that's the end of it.” He turned away, not waiting for Shane's reply. Not able to, without saying something he suspected he'd regret, possibly about how it wasn't fair to impose his own stupid feelings onto something that had worked for both of them, as though Shane had been the only one doing the using. Like Mark was a pity-fuck, or a victim _._

He wasn't. He was fucking fine.

He saw Mario on the way past. Tapped him on the shoulder. Got a cheeky smile. Part of him hoped Shane would see him lead the other lad out the door. Part of him hoped he wouldn't.

  
  


*

  
  


The toilets were cramped. The pushed into a stall, the ghost ahead of him, laughing when they collided and the sheet got caught on the handle of the door. Kian untangled it quickly, locked the door, then turned back again to find the ghost pulling the holes in the sheet back into place.

Kian was already hiking the bottom up, hands fumbling at jeans, at a button-fly that popped open. Then thick, hard in his hand. He looked down, but it was hard to see with the mask, so he focused on pulling the ghost in instead, grinding his own trapped cock against a tense thigh while he stroked.

There was a whimpering sob, and then the ghost was turning to face the loo. Spooning to his front and grinding back while Kian stroked him. Delicious pressure, finding the curve of a firm arse where the jeans had slipped down. He undid his own belt a moment later, pulled down the fly and let himself out. Heard another moan. Flesh to flesh and the perfect rub of a hairy crack that cradled him in as he pushed tighter, slipping the length of him and head finding the hole on every push. Different from Nicky's waxed arse, but still brilliant, the trickle of precum on his fingers slickening the stroke while the ghost's hands settled on the cistern and they fucked against each other in the tiny cubicle.

“Unh...” it croaked out. Kian pulled him back harder.

“Condom?” he urged. The ghost stiffened, then shook his head. Kian didn't have one either. Still, this was good. Better than good. He could fucking _do_ this.

  
  


*

  
  


Jason felt brilliant, over his shoulder. Nicky didn't know how he felt. Dangerous, slightly. Mostly just overwhelmed and rapidly realising how horny he'd gotten over the past few months of going without. The hand on him was fast relief, stroking him higher and faster, dipping down to caress his balls every now and them.

“Condom?” Nicky stiffened, shook his head. Wished he had one. Wished a lot of things. Mostly that he'd gotten a wax in the last few months, or bothered to take a shower that night. He hadn't expected this, though. Wanting to be ready for someone when nobody had looked at him in such a long time.

He straightened against Jason's front, felt the thrust go in straight up, dragging over him. Too good. Naughty and fun and squashed in a shitty toilet cubicle, a hand on his cock and another trapping his waist while he writhed helplessly in a solid grip.

“Ah...”

“Fuck,” Nicky breathed. The hand on him tightened. He wrenched out of the hold. Dropped. Could barely see but he could reach to drag in a thick, leaking cock. Realised the hole in the sheet wasn't big enough and grabbed the edges, ripping it open enough to guide Jason in. Slick on his tongue and breathless gasps from above him while Nicky got the taste and swallowed it down, feeling big hands cup to the back of his head through the sheet.

He moaned around it. Familiar taste of want. Too familiar, maybe, but he supposed Kian had been an average lad, and Nicky had never tasted another one. Apparently they were all pretty much the same.

Slick. Nicky played him. As far as he could, right to the edge, until his own chin was dripping with drool and the snap in powerful hips was getting erratic. Then off. Up. Turned around and guiding that thick weight back into him, wishing they had the means to go further but feeling his whole body thrill when he felt the wet slide of it, hammering against him. Harsh breaths in his ear and a hand coming to his mouth, playing over his swollen lips.

He spat into it. It dropped. And then fuck. Fuck. Tight and slick and moving as fast as the cock between his cheeks. He growled. Throbbing weight slamming up against him and the hitching groans that had to mean the edge.

He twisted in strong arms, cried out. Sudden syrupy pulse up his crack and oh, fuck, he'd missed that. Missed being yanked back, owned, held so tight his breath couldn't make it back in while he tangled his hand back in soft hair and let go, the hand around him torture and release all at once.

Fell forward again, once it was done. Hands on the cistern and heaving, loud panting behind him, both muffled and amplified by the hockey mask. He was glad for the sheet because he was sure he looked a mess. Sweaty and broken and maybe so good he felt guilty to allow it of himself.

He reached for the toilet paper, began to clean himself up. Couldn't see for the sheet, but he heard the clink of a belt, knew without looking that Jason had wiped himself and tossed the toilet paper in the bowl. There was a breathy pause. Nicky wondered what to say.

Then the door creaked open and Jason left.

Nicky locked the door behind him and sat down, feeling loneliness ebb back in.

  
  


*

  
  


Kian came out first. Shane lurked for a moment. He looked upset, as much as it was able to tell behind a hockey mask, but there was something clumsy in the rapid clip of his walk. He was pushing towards the front door, and as he went Shane saw Kian rip the mask off, saw tears in his eyes.

They'd figured it out, apparently.

He sighed, and pushed into the toilets, wondering where Nicky was.

He was bent over the sink. Looked up when Shane came in, then tensed. He didn't look right either. Was washing his hands with a thorough determination.

“Nico?”

“Hey.” Nicky shut the tap off. “I'm going home.”

“I'll drive you.”

“You stay. I'll get a cab.” It wasn't a tone to be argued with. Shane stood helplessly in the doorway, wishing he knew what to offer that wasn't just empty platitudes and wanting to be someone else. Nicky hesitated on his way past, both of them frozen for a moment in the doorway. “Shay...” Whatever he'd intended to say didn't come. Shane reached for his hand, felt it twitch away, still wet and slick from soapsuds.

Then Nicky left, pushing through the crowd.

  
  


*

  
  


Kian was halfway down the street, tears blurring his eyes, when he realised he'd left his phone behind.

He was a moment from leaving it, too upset to do too much else. The taxi queue was right there and he could be home within twenty minutes, back to his bed and safety and the flat he'd moved into after he'd packed his bags and left their house for the last time.

That was ridiculous, though. He needed his phone. There were contacts on there, emails and messages from people who probably wouldn't want their details being splashed around. Hundreds of pictures of Nicky. He and Nicky, together. The last tangible evidence that any of it had happened.

He pushed back in, after distractedly explaining to the bouncer what he needed, when everyone else was getting turned away. If the man noticed his face he didn't comment. The trip to the bathroom was slow, through the crowd, but eventually he made it, mask still grasped in one hand and eyes scanning the tiles already for a familiar case.

Shane stepped out of a stall.

Kian blinked, surprised, saw hazel eyes fix on him.

“Er...” Shane said. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” It came out too defensive. Shane raised an eyebrow. “Erm...”

“Thought I'd come out. Halloween. I saw Mark before.”

“Oh.” Kian felt a rise of guilt. Mark. He'd forgotten. “Where's he?”

“We saw you going into the bathroom, so he left with some lad.” There was something less than happy in the way Shane said it. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just...” Kian shook his head, feeling the tears start again. Shane's face softened. It didn't help. He put a hand over his mouth to muffle a drunken sob. “Erm.”

“Shit.” He fell into strong arms. “Okay. S'alright.” Kian sobbed again when he felt a kiss on his hair, wet gulps that fed themselves with every breath as the magnitude of what had happened sank in. The emptiness of it. Like anything could be a replacement for... “What happened?”

“Just...” He heaved. Shane held him tighter. “I miss him. And I had sex with someone else and it wasn't... I can't _do_ this without him.” He heard a disbelieving chuckle in his ear. “What am I supposed to do? Go back to work and pretend...” He closed his eyes. A hand began to make slow circles on his back. “I can't,” he breathed. “I loved him so much and he didn't want it. Why didn't he want me?”

“Shh,” Shane murmured. He wasn't saying something. Probably trying to keep his opinions to himself, about how Kian was being stupid and sentimental and needed to move on.

“I can't find my phone,” Kian croaked helplessly.

“We'll look for it,” Shane murmured. “Then you can come back to mine, alright?” Kian nodded. Didn't have the energy to refuse. “Where did you last have it?”

  
  


*

  
  


Mario was a nice enough lad. Mark still didn't catch his name. Didn't really care to. It wasn't the point. The point was bending him over the living room sofa at two in the morning and slamming into him hard, relishing the broken, pained grunts of pleasure coming out of the man in front of him. Looking at the back of a dark head and fisting the cock in his hand until it released into his grip.

They went upstairs after that. Mark fucked him until he was done, then went to the bathroom to clean off and dispose of the condom. Came back to find the lad asleep on his bed.

He hesitated in the doorway. Wondered what the line on courtesy was.

He was too drunk for this. Too heartbroken and embarrassed and indignant and Shane didn't get to _do_ that. To sour the last few years with some approximation of being the good guy.

Sleepy green eyes opened while he stood there pondering it.

“Hey.” Cheeky smile. “Wanna go again?”

“Get out,” Mark said quickly. He saw the smile falter. “Sorry. Just... I have a flight in the morning.” It was a likely enough story.

“Can I shower first?” There was a bite-mark on his shoulder.

Mark said he could. So he did. Then he left.

Mark sat down on the sofa with a gin and tonic and waited for the sun to rise.

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky didn't know how he felt as he lay on his bed, watching the ceiling spin.

It was early. He'd dozed, sort of, woken again to his misery weighting him into the sheets, though he knew he'd need to get up to use the bathroom at some point reasonably soon. It felt too difficult, though. Everything did. Laid on their bed in their house, all by himself, while Kian was out there somewhere, probably moving on far better than Nicky was.

Six months. Six months of trying to get past it, and here he was back at the beginning again, ready to burst into tears because the pillow didn't smell like Kian any more.

Maybe he'd been rash. Maybe Kian had meant it, after all. And even if he hadn't, maybe it was still better than this. Than being on his own, wishing he had someone to kiss him to sleep.

The tears came back with a vengeance. They rushed hard and hysterical. When he was done he forced himself up, fell into the shower, wanting to wash the smell off. Threw the sheet away, on the way back to the bedroom, needing every evidence of the night before out of his life and stuffed down as far into the potato peelings and crusty tissues as he could manage.

He slept, afterwards. Properly. Deeply. Falling down and down, until he woke hours later, hungover and the sun burning through the window, leaving a patch of light on Kian's side of the bed.

Nicky stumbled into his jeans, then went looking for his car keys.

  
  


*

  
  


“Hey.”

“Hey.” Shane squinted at the apologetic figure on his doorstep. Too early for this, really, but he had to admit he was relieved, in a way. Kian had finally gone to sleep, after a few hours of breathless crying. Shane had gotten part of the story out of him. He didn't know about Nicky, apparently, was too busy feeling guilty over a fumble in the toilets, and Shane didn't know how to tell him. There was no point, anyway. Not at four in the morning, when he was so out of his head on grief and alcohol the story probably wouldn't stick. Would probably make things worse, if anything.

“I'm sorry. It's early...”

“It really is.” He crossed his arms, leaning in the doorway. Mark gave him a nervous smile. “Kian's asleep on the sofa, by the way. How was your shag?”

“Yeah. Fine. I don't know.” He sighed. “I'm just...” He looked just slightly over the line between drunk and hungover, bloodshot eyes and his makeup smeared so he looked like a calico cat with a drug habit. He looked beautiful, in an odd way, not put together or trying to be more than he was. Shane couldn't help himself smiling when blue eyes dropped bashfully to his shoes. “Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Shane echoed. “I'm sorry. For what I said before. I didn't mean it like that.”

“Yeah. I know,” Mark huffed. “Sorry. Bit of a raw spot. I overreacted.” His gaze darted up from under dark lashes. “You knew?”

“Had a feeling,” Shane hedged. Of course he'd known. Seventeen years old and having this boy hang around him, awkward and looking at him with the widest, sweetest eyes. He'd loved that boy. Still loved him.

“You weren't using me. I mean, I know I felt more but there was never an ulterior motive. It wasn't like that.”

Shane nodded. He didn't know if he believed it entirely.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah. Um.” He scratched messy hair. “Can you pay the driver, actually? I forgot my wallet.”

Shane laughed, glancing over Mark's shoulder to where he could see a taxi at the curb, the driver peering impatiently out the window.

He sorted it. When he got back in Mark was stood in the kitchen, gulping water from hands cupped under the tap. Kian was snoring loudly on the sofa in the other room. Shane paused in the doorway while Mark finished then looked up, smiling guiltily.

“Thirsty.”

“Still drunk?”

“Mm.” He bit his lip. Wiped water off his chin. “I can leave. I just wanted to make sure we were okay. I mean, last thing we need is another... you know.” His eyes darted towards the bedroom. “Situation.” He slumped down onto a chair at the kitchen table. “I don't know, Shane. Are we fucked? Like, is this...” A hand drifted out in a clumsy gesture, then settled absently on the hockey mask Kian had abandoned on the table, along with a white t-shirt spattered in fake blood. “Between Kian and Nicky, and you and Nicky, and you and I, I don't...” His eyes pinched shut, opened again. “It was fine. They were in love, and we were whatever, and okay you said his name that time but it was _fine_. It was fine.”

“We're okay,” Shane murmured. Mark buried his head in his hands. “Marky...” He crouched down, looked up into a face that was pale underneath flaking white makeup. “Come on. Okay...” He held out his arms. Mark fell into them. “S'okay. I love you.” He kissed dark hair. “I'm alright. Are you alright?” Mark shrugged, then nodded. “Just drunk and a bit emotional?”

“Yeah,” Mark breathed. Shane snorted. “Where's Nicky?”

“He went home. I'll check on him later.” Mark nodded. “I've already got to take care of those two eejits, could you not have done this later?” They both giggled stupidly. Shane patted him on the shoulder. “You want to crash in my bed?”

“Okay.” He forced himself up, out of Shane's embrace. Swayed slightly.

Shane led him up the stairs and put him to bed.

  
  


*

  
  


Mark woke to Shane asleep beside him.

He blinked, not sure how he'd gotten here. Mid-morning, at least, if the sun coming in the bedroom window was anything to go by. He felt better. Less hungover, at least. Dry and beaten in a way he didn't know how to express, except that he was awake, and alive, and that was about all the energy he could manage after the night before.

He was a tit, he knew. Getting swoony and irrationally prickly and leaving his miserable friend behind to do something he shouldn't have allowed. He wasn't sure if Kian or Nicky knew what they'd done, but either way he'd known, and hadn't stopped it. Had stormed out on his other friend because he'd been embarrassed about something that probably should have been said years ago.

He looked up. Saw hazel eyes watching him, half-closed with sleep. A Superman shirt and boxer shorts.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. Shane snorted, and reached out an arm.

“Come here.”

Mark did. Slid over and into the embrace, felt fingers make slow tracks up his spine, then down again.

“Gorgeous.”

“I'm a fucking mess.” His own laugh came out bitter. Shane pecked his nose.

“Yeah, you are. Maybe I am too.” They gazed at each other. A pocket of calm, in all the mess. “I never meant to hurt you. It was never a pity thing. I mean, feelings aside, we were always pretty compatible.” His hand lifted to his mouth while he cleared his throat. When it resettled it was on Mark's hip. “It was nice. Having you. You were always wanted.”

“Thanks.” Mark breathed out slowly. “Maybe it's time to move on though. I'm not getting any younger.”

“No. Ditto.” Mark closed his eyes. Felt a soft kiss alight between his eyebrows, then lift away, leaving him shivering. “I'm sick of chasing those two around.” Their noses pressed back together, breaths mingling. The hand on his hip shifted. “Well, he'll be lucky, whoever he is. Nobody ever made me come like you did.”

“You weren't too bad yourself.” Mark opened his eyes just in time for them to connect. Sloppy, maybe, the taste not great after a night of drinking, but oh, hand moving to slide down the back of his jeans. He groaned, pushed himself on top. Mistake, definitely, but then they always had been. “We shouldn't.”

“Course we shouldn't,” Shane agreed, smirking.

Mark rolled his eyes and kept going.

  
  


*

  
  


Kian woke to the doorbell ringing.

It was late. Mid-morning. He felt awful, late morning and the sun overheating his hungover brain until it was almost scrambled inside his skull, leaking onto his carpeted tongue. He tried to get up. Fell off the sofa instead, narrowly missing the coffee table.

He pushed himself to his knees, groaning, then stumbled towards the hallway, wondering where Shane was and why he couldn't answer his own fucking door.

Nicky blinked back at him.

“Fuck.” Kian closed the door again. No. Too early in the morning and he wasn't _doing_ this. Wasn't letting Nicky see him in his boxers, hungover and barely conscious, still miserable six months after they'd broken up. Not when Nicky was probably fine, moving on with his life and not falling to pieces because he'd come up a stranger's arse-crack in a club toilet.

The door bounced. He looked down. Realised Nicky's shoe was in the gap.

“What?” he growled. Nicky's eyes filled with tears. They stared at each other. Kian wondered if he was supposed to say something.

“I was looking for Shane.”

“He's asleep.”

“Oh.” Nicky bit his lip. “Erm.” He didn't look great either, Kian realised. Not at all the put-together Nicky he'd said a sullen goodbye to when they'd parted ways after Croke Park. “Can I come in, then?”

Kian led him in. Pushed the duvet aside. Nicky looked blankly at the seat that had been freed up, then sat.

“I'll go wake Shane then.”

Nicky nodded.

Kian began to climb the stairs.

  
  


*

  
  


Mistake.

Big mistake.

Fuck, Mark was tight.

This was definitely a mistake.

“Ah...” Mark arched, hands clawing at Shane's shoulders. Gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous. They'd gone slow. But god, Mark had been beautiful, spitting down while Shane had twisted him roughly open, both of them biting at each other like they had a point to prove.

God, he was fucking _tight_.

“Fuck,” Mark rasped. Shane did as he was told. Blue eyes rolled back, then squeezed shut, mouth hanging open as if to compensate. Shane caught him in a clumsy kiss, bent low over him while heels dug into his lower back and Mark gasped desperately into his mouth. “Gonna come,” he croaked. Shane twisted, hit that spot that clenched back at him, drawing him in. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Shane muttered back. “Fuck.” He dragged the other man into another hard kiss. Up on his knees and tugging until they tipped backwards, Mark on top of him. There was a fumbling moment of confusion, and then fuck, Mark was riding him. Going hard, his own hand a vicious stroke, Mark's eyes full of determination.

“Don't you dare say his name.”

“Mark,” Shane growled, sitting up into the kiss. Mark cried out. “Marky. That's it.” He felt Mark lurch. Breathed his name again, feeling a warning shudder. “Mark,” he murmured. “That's it. Fuck me, babe. Come for me.” Hands tensed on his shoulders. “Love fucking you.”

“Shay...” He lost it. Shane caught him, still slamming up as fast as he could, chasing the edge.

“Mark,” Shane croaked. Mark was still moving, meeting him thrust for thrust, and maybe this wasn't love, but it was definitely something. Their lips mashed together, hard enough to hurt, cum squelching absurdly between them while Mark rocked bonelessly in his lap, neck bent to make up for the height difference.

“Um.” They both looked up. Kian was stood there, eyes wide. “Hello.”

“Fuck.” Too late. He turned away as he came, not needing to make eye-contact with one of his best friends while he was in the middle of fucking their bandmate, the agonising release of his orgasm muted by his embarrassment. When he looked back around Kian was gone. He sagged, sweaty. Mark blushed into his shoulder.

“Whoops.”

“Whoops,” Shane echoed. Mark was snorting laughter.

“Well, at least it wasn't Nicky.”

“I don't want to talk about Nicky.” He pulled back. Mark smiled at him shyly. “Good?”

“Good.” Mark lifted free, then flopped backwards. Shane fell beside him. “Last time, probably?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “Moving on and stuff?”

“Good idea.” Mark rolled for the edge of the bed. “You want to talk to Kian, or will I?”

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky sat alone on the sofa after Kian had left. There was a duvet pushed to one end, one of Shane's spares probably. He didn't know what he'd thought when he'd answered the door, though maybe his first impulse had been about why Kian was here so early in the morning. The rage had bloomed quickly, hard jealousy, though he supposed this duvet was evidence to the contrary.

He looked at his fiddling hands, rested between restless knees. He was exhausted. Wasn't sure why he was here except he'd needed to talk to someone, and Shane had always been there. Kian being here too, was...

He leaned sideways, wanting to rest his head for a second. Breathed in deep and felt tears spring to his eyes. Buried his face in the duvet. Kian. God, pure Kian. Deep and warm and filling his lungs.

There were footsteps on the stairs, thundering down. Nicky sat up too fast.

“You are not going to believe-” There was laughter in his voice. Nicky stared back. Kian hesitated, his face falling into the same blank expression he'd had when he'd opened the door. He looked tired. Looked perversely good, in boxers and nothing else. Nicky licked his lips.

“What?”

“Erm.” Kian was still stood at the bottom of the stairs. Shane didn't appear to be behind him. “Shane and Mark are fucking upstairs.”

“They are not,” Nicky said automatically. Kian shrugged. “No way.” He stood, already laughing. A grin was sneaking onto Kian's face. “Actually?”

“Actually,” Kian giggled. Nicky covered a snort. Kian's eyes were dancing. “Caught them.”

“Who... who was bottoming?” It was a stupid question, but he had to know. Kian took a step closer.

“Mark.”

“Blackmail Vault?”

“Absolutely.” It was an old joke between them. Anything the others did that they wouldn't want the public to know, in case Kian or Nicky ever needed a favour. Bryan's was still lengthy and detailed. He saw Kian's eyes soften, the laughter leave him, and realised what he'd said. They didn't have old jokes. Not any more. “Nicky...”

“I'd better go,” Nicky murmured. “I can't...” A breath rushed out of him, shaking. Kian stepped closer again. He could hear footsteps in the upstairs hallway.

“We've got to work together in less than six months,” Kian pointed out. Nicky shrugged. “They'll be down in a minute. We can laugh at them. I'll make you a cuppa if you want.”

“I don't know.” He shifted, unsure. Kian began to move towards the kitchen. “Kian?” A look darted over a hunched shoulder. “I was with someone. Last night. I just...” Thought you should know. He didn't know why. It wasn't Kian's business.

“Oh.” Kian nodded. “Okay.” He turned back. “Are you saying that to hurt me?”

“No. I don't know.” He bit his lip. “Have... have you? I mean...”

“Guess we were both busy last night.” It hurt more than Nicky had expected. “How was it?”

“S'alright.” His feet led him without permission. Kian went to the kettle, began to fill it. Nicky looked around for somewhere to sit, headed towards the kitchen table. Stopped. Not sure he was seeing what he thought. Not able to make it fit in his head.

He picked up the hockey mask. Turned it over in his hands. A different one, his brain rationalised. It wasn't like they were rare. A coincidence.

White t-shirt beside it, spattered in red.

“What's this?” he said, turning. Kian looked at the mask in his hand.

“Halloween costume.” It was cavalier. Nicky's hand clenched until the plastic edge cut into his palm. “I went out last night. Fucked a lad in the toilets.” He smirked. Nicky's blood was ice, his gut fire. “Really good, actually. He was gagging for it.”

The punch was harder than Nicky had meant. A crunching slam of pain that squared his knuckles and jolted up his arm. Kian went down almost silently. Head whipped to the side, then stumbling onto the kitchen tiles with a thud. Nicky kicked him. Again. Into his back while Kian lay gasping and trying to get away.

He was yanked backwards. Bit and twisted, shouting, while Kian lay on the floor, ragged sobs coming out of his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mark growled. Nicky spit in Kian's direction, yelped when he was pulled into a headlock, his friend's arms under his and caught in the back of his head, holding him helpless.

“He...” Nicky sobbed. “Last night. He...” He collapsed, dropping his weight until Mark was forced to sink to the floor with him. “Fuck you,” he spat. Kian was sitting up, hand on his back, the other hand on his rapidly swelling cheek. “Fuck you, you piece of shit. You fucking...” He twisted again, was held firm. “That's what you do, is it? Dress up and pretend to be someone else? Why? Just to fucking hurt me? Or are you that fucked in the head that you think...” He kicked out, wasn't able to reach.

“Whoa,” Shane held up a hand, then reached over to pull open the freezer door. “Nicky, stop.” Kian was looking dazed. Nicky couldn't breathe around his anger.

“What did I do?” Kian mumbled. “It was Halloween. I was wearing a costume.”

“He didn't know,” Mark said in his ear. Nicky's chest was burning. “Nico, he didn't know what you were dressed as. He didn't even know you were there. It was an accident.”

“It...” Nicky slumped, eyes full of tears. Kian stared between them, mouth moving over silent words. Shane pressed a packet of frozen peas to his cheek. He flinched away.

“What...” Kian swallowed. “What were you dressed as?”

  
  


*

  
  


The sofa felt bigger with the duvet tidied away. Shane folded it while Kian had sat there with the bag of frozen peas on his cheek. Nicky was sat at the other end. Mark hesitated in the doorway.

“I didn't mean...” He bit his lip. “I mean, we thought you'd figure it out before...” He looked at both of them helplessly. Kian stared back. “We just missed you both so much.”

“Go away,” Nicky breathed. Shane nodded.

“He loves you,” His eyes darted to Kian. Kian felt another swell of tears. His face hurt too much to start crying again, so he swallowed it down. It didn't really help. “I'll drop Mark home. You should talk.”

The door closed.

The silence stretched. Kian adusted the peas. Pulled them away when they started to sting. His back hurt too, his ribs where Nicky had caught them. He'd have a bruise there for sure, but didn't think there was any real harm done. He hadn't expected it, for Nicky to hit him like that. Hadn't expected the savagery in it. For Nicky to hate him that much.

“Sorry,” Nicky murmured, finally. Kian looked up. He was getting a studying look in return, though it darted away after a moment. “I thought...”

“I know.” Kian closed his eyes. The right one was a little swollen, but he could see fine, had caught most of the punch on his cheekbone. “I didn't know it was you. I promise I didn't.” Nicky didn't reply. Kian wasn't sure if Nicky believed him or not. “I'm... sorry, for what I said before. I was trying to hurt you.”

“Good job.”

“Thanks,” Kian snorted. The cushions shifted, and when he opened his eyes Nicky had turned sideways, had his legs crossed up on the sofa and was regarding him carefully. “I thought I was being really brave, you know? Finally back on the horse, sort of thing.”

“You hadn't...?” Kian shook his head. “Me either,” Nicky admitted. Kian felt his heart skip. Guilty relief. Nicky let out a soft laugh. “Pathetic, when you think about it. I thought I was moving on, and apparently we've still only slept with each other.”

“Yeah.” Nicky was smiling. Kian couldn't help but smile back. “You stopped waxing your arse.”

“That's all you can think about?” Nicky threw a cushion at him. Kian deflected it, laughing, though he stopped when he felt his ribs complain. The peas suddenly had a new home. He hissed as they made contact with his side, though he didn't miss the sympathetic wince from the other end of the sofa. “Couldn't be bothered,” Nicky admitted bashfully. “Everything just felt...”

“Too hard,” Kian supplied. Nicky nodded. “I know.” He turned his back to the arm-rest, curled his knees up on the seat.

“You didn't mind?”

“I never minded, Nico. You were always sexy.” He felt his cheeks redden when he realised what he'd said, his blush prickling through his numbed cheek. Nicky was biting his lip shyly. “Do what you want, anyway. It's not up to me.”

“No. Suppose not.” Nicky's voice was quiet. “I missed you.” That was even quieter. “I don't know how to do any of this without you.”

“Then why did you leave?” He took a deep breath. Didn't want to ask. Needed to know. “You broke my heart, Nico. Why...” His voice broke. He closed his eyes to centre himself, opened them to a pale face and trembling mouth. “Why didn't you want me? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Nicky whispered. Kian stared at him. “What do you want me to say? It was over, Kian.”

“I proposed. How is that over?”

“You didn't mean it.” Kian opened his mouth to argue, though Nicky got there first. “You didn't. We were falling apart, so you proposed. I couldn't...” He closed his eyes. “Was that what we were going to do? Just plod through every day, barely looking at each other because it was easier than being apart? We didn't even talk, by the end. We just worked, and when we weren't at work we were just sitting around, watching TV, waiting for work again.”

“Is... is that what you thought?” It felt as if the air had gone from the world. “I just thought we were comfortable. We were in the middle of a world tour. I don't know about you, but I barely had the energy to walk to bed some nights.”

“Stop it.”

“Nicky...” He edged closer. Nicky still wouldn't look at him. “I love you. I've never stopped loving you. Do you know how broken up...” Nicky turned away. “You're all I think about. I can barely eat.”

“I wasn't happy,” Nicky breathed. Kian swallowed. “I was trying so hard to be happy, and I wasn't, and you just kept saying it was fine. And then we'd fight, and we'd make up, and it didn't _change_ anything. You wouldn't believe me when I said I wasn't happy, you'd just try to fix it with flowers and presents, then we'd go back to not talking to each other. I didn't want a proposal. I wanted you to listen.”

“I...” He was going to argue. Saw Nicky's face, and decided not to. It had never helped before. “I didn't realise it was that bad. I'm sorry.” Nicky shrugged. “I'm listening now.”

“It doesn't matter any more.”

“It does, or we wouldn't be sat here.” He reached out a hand. Nicky's settled haltingly into it. “Why weren't you happy?”

“I don't know.” Nicky edged closer. “I've loved you for as long as I can remember. I don't know how to love anyone else.”

“That's why you were unhappy?”

“No. Not really. Or... I dunno, maybe because everything felt so...” He sighed, brows furrowing while he worked it over in his head. Kian waited. “Right, so, we were together. I liked being with you. We were in our little world, and that was fine.” Kian nodded. “But it was always... it was bigger than that. We couldn't just be us. We had to be together for the band, because we didn't want to break up and ruin things, and everybody kept saying how perfect we were. Our families and the lads and the fans and... I don't know. It was like being together wasn't for us any more. It was an obligation. Showing up at things together, and doing interviews and stuff. I always had to be on. It got harder to tell where we ended at home and where work started.”

“Why didn't you talk to me about it?”

“I tried.” Kian shook his head. He hadn't known. Maybe he hadn't been paying enough attention to the details. Nicky was right. He was a fixer. Tended to steamroll a problem before it got worse. “You just kept telling me not to worry about it. Then when you proposed all I could think was that we'd be discussing OK! Covers before we thought about best man.”

“My brother.”

“Mine too,” Nicky murmured. His other hand drifted into Kian's. “You know, if there was one good thing about last night, it was that we weren't us.”

“You think?” Kian raised an eyebrow. Nicky shrugged.

“Would we have ever done that if we had been?”

“We didn't need to. We had a perfectly good bed.” Kian smiled. “Still, I know what you mean. It was good to go out and not be Kian from Westlife.” Nicky nodded. “I spent the whole time wishing it was you.”

“Same.” Nicky shuffled closer. Kian brought his legs up, crossed them. Knee to knee, both of them leaning in until their foreheads were almost touching, hands clasped on the seat between them. “They were seriously upstairs fucking?”

“They seriously were,” Kian laughed. “Funny, I thought Shane always had a thing for you.”

“He does. I just pretend I don't realise.” Nicky smirked cheekily. “Those two have got a lot of explaining to do. They should have told us.”

“They should have.” Kian smiled when fingers stroked his unhurt cheek. “You look good.”

“You too. I like your hair shorter.” The touch drifted up through it, then back down to fall into his hand again. Kian squeezed. “Thanks. For listening to me.” He bit his lip, then let it go with a pop. “I missed talking to you.”

“Me too.” He lifted Nicky's hand, almost automatically, then hesitated when he realised what he'd been about to do. Their gazes locked. Then, slowly, Nicky nodded.

He let his lips touch gently to Nicky's knuckles, then let their hands drop again. Nicky turned a smile into his lap. Kian smiled back.

“Love you.”

“Love you too,” Nicky breathed. “Okay.” He pulled his hands back, stood up. Kian watched him go, stuck cross-legged on the sofa. “I drove over, but honestly I probably shouldn't have, so.” He dug into his pocket and fished out his keys. “You could drive me home, if you're sober, and maybe you could come in for breakfast.” Kian felt his heart flip. “Just if it won't put you out.”

“No. Not at all. Um.” He took the keys. “Do you have frozen peas?”

“Yeah,” Nicky chuckled. Kian began to climb off the sofa. A hand landed on his shoulder, and when he stood he realised how close they were, Nicky moving in.

A kiss touched his top lip. He returned it. Tried not to burst into tears.

“Didn't get to do that last night,” Nicky said, when it broke. Kian didn't know what to say.

Instead he began to collect his clothes.

  
  


*

  
  


It was odd, sitting in the passenger seat. Nicky had always done the driving. Kian had always let him when there was a choice, had sat happily and played with the radio while Nicky had sworn at other drivers.

“Feels weird driving,” Kian commented. Nicky laughed when he realised they'd both been thinking the same thing. “Okay.” He adjusted the seat, fiddled with the mirrors. Nicky rolled his eyes. Got a grin for his troubles. “What?”

“Nothing. Just...” He leaned in to press a kiss to a stubbly cheek. “You being you.” Kian shrugged. “Those jeans are really tight, by the way.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well.” He wriggled in them. They didn't look entirely comfortable. “Last minute costume. Anyway, like you can talk. A sheet?”

“Shane threw it at me. I didn't have time.” He realised he was pouting.

“I liked the hole in the front.”

“I'm glad.” Nicky leaned back in his seat while Kian pressed all the buttons on the central air, moved the rearview mirror, then finally turned the ignition. They lurched backwards down the driveway and out onto the road.

He saw eyes dart at him. Felt a hand cover his for the most fleeting of touches.

Nicky smiled and began to fiddle with the radio.

 


End file.
